Ânur
by Marigold Faucet
Summary: Prompt fic. Death fic. AU. Kíli is dead and the whole world smells of apples.


**Warnings **/ AU / character death

**Prompt **_for the_ Feels for Fíli Art and Fic Mini Contest / _#4 Apples_

**Third place **_in the _Feels for Fíli Art and Fic Mini Contest / _#4 Apples_ / Fic

_This is un-beta'd._

—

**ÂNUR  
><strong>Marigold Faucet

—

"There are two ways of seeing: with the body and with the soul. The body's sight can sometimes forget, but the soul remembers forever."  
>—Alexandre Dumas, <em>The Count of Monte Cristo<em>

—

Kíli loved apples.

It's one of the first things people tell Fíli when he asks, _what was Kíli like?_ He dares not ask Dís, he cannot stand the crushing sadness that sweeps over her at the mention of Kíli's name, and Thorin rarely gives voice to the sadness of his heart. It's not Fíli's fault he doesn't quite remember how things used to be, when it was Fíli-and-Kíli and not just Fíli-who-had-a-brother-but-doesn't-anymore. But he has to know, has to ask, because Kíli was his brother and it doesn't feel right that he should forget him.

"You were only young," Thorin tells him, time and time again when Fíli confesses this over the ever expanding decades. It does little to ease the aching guilt, but Fíli holds to it because he was young and Kíli was young. Only Fíli isn't young anymore.

There are times Fíli does remember, fractured glimpses of a dark haired dwarfling who smiles and laughs and lives, and for the most part they are happy memories easily stirred by the right word or place. Fíli doesn't feel so bad then, in the moments he can remember how it felt to be a brother, to love a brother and be loved in return.

Then there are times Fíli is glad to have forgotten, as terrible as that makes him feel. He has no clear memory of _that_ night, but sometimes, when the breeze is heavy with the smell of apples, it hurts deep and painful like an old wound that never healed right. Every autumn reminds him of Kíli and not even the road to Erebor can spare him such grief.

And Fíli will admit, he really hoped it would. Ered Luin, Thorin's Halls; it's not felt like home for the longest time and how can it? When occasions are marked in befores and afters and _do you remember whens_. When the smell of autumn's harvest is enough to grip his heart with a bone-deep grief that Fíli struggles to understand. He feels a fraud when he tells Thorin that he will join him on his quest, there is no honour or loyalty in his heart when he says this. It is a chance to escape, to find a new home free from the ghost of his brother and the anguish he carries in his wake.

Fíli is half-way through the Shire when he realises that there is no escape and not all ghosts haunt the places in which they lived; lingering in the world like an unmade bed or an empty chair, visions of what was and what should have been.

The breeze is warm, a final remnant of summer in its dying days and it carries with it the gentle scent of apples and spices. It is only faint, but it is enough to make Fíli nose crinkle with disgust as he presses his face into the soft fur of his coat. He breathes deep, relishing the smell of forge smoke and dried heather, but it is too late. The damage is done.

He spies a figure standing atop a hill, too small for a Hobbit and far too big to be a fauntling. The figure raises their hand, waving twice before turning away. The moonlight catches on a bit of silver in the figure's dark hair, twinkling brightly like a star as they disappear over the hill. Fíli raises his own hand, reaching round to the back of his head and brushing his fingers of the silver clasp that rests in his hair. It was not made for him, the Cirth carved into it wishing protection to a different son with a different heart and a different name. It was made for Kíli, but Kíli does not wear such things anymore. Nor will he again.

By the time Fíli reaches the home of the Hobbit, Mister Baggins (who is to be their burglar, even if first impressions seem to be contrary to expectations), there is a decided air of melancholy about him that seems determined to remain for the rest of the evening. Balin asks him more than once, in the absence of Thorin who has not yet arrived, if he is feeling alright.

"I'm fine," Fíli tells him each time. He does not wish to worry Balin and Fíli knows that Balin already fears the madness of Thrór's kin. He does not wish to complicate matters by explaining what he saw—what he _thinks_ he saw—on the hill and how it has left him with an unshakeable it sadness. _This will pass_, Fíli assures himself silently. _It always does_.

Sure enough, come morning Fíli feels lighter when they set off on their journey. He feels lighter still when Mister Baggins' change of heart lines his pockets with some extra gold, but in Fíli's experience this feeling, like sadness, does not often last.

He is in conversation with Dwalin when it happens, the first apple sails past his head in a wide arc followed by the call of _lunch_ and several more apples. It is only because of his reflexes that Fíli catches the apple aimed at his face, he catches Bofur sniggering slightly up ahead (pockets bulging with several more apples), but Fíli is far from amused. It takes no small measure of self-control to keep him from throwing the apple back, hard and preferably at the ridiculous hat that he loves so much, but instead Fíli simply urges his pony back until he comes alongside Mister Baggins.

"Here Master Burglar," he says, offering the apple to their miserable looking burglar. "I do not imagine you ate much breakfast in your haste to join us on this quest."

"I—thank you," Bilbo says, blinking in surprise as he takes the apple. "But don't you want it?"

"I'm not overly fond of apples," Fíli shrugs, raising his eyes to glare at the figure waving to him from the branches of a tree up ahead. Fíli knows Bilbo is frowning at him and surely their burglar must think him odd for glaring so angrily at something as innocuous as a tree, but it is not just a tree because Kíli sits in that tree just as he stood on the hillside the night before, pale as a memory.

Kíli waves to him again, but Fíli ignores the ever growing ache in his chest at the sight of him and focuses on the path ahead instead.

—

Unsurprisingly, Fíli finds Kíli up an apple tree.

They'd both taken off the minute they'd reached the market outskirts, Kíli darting ahead and disappearing into the apple orchard. It doesn't take long to find him, thin limbs (for a Dwarf) quickly scaling the nearest tree he could find and Fíli has to giggle at the soft curses (not at all learned from Thorin) coming from the darkening leaves.

Fíli is patient enough, waiting for Kíli to swing back down to the lowest branch as Thorin comes up behind him with a bemused grin. They'd all come to the market today, save Da who is stuck in the mines until next week. Even Mister Dwalin is with them, letting both Fíli and Kíli ride on his shoulders when their legs were too tired. It's not often they go to the market or leave the relative safety of the mountain.

"I got you an apple," Kíli beams, tossing him an apple.

"Âkminrûk zu," Fíli says with a bow. "Are you planning on coming down?"

"Nope," Kíli grins. "Smells nice up here."

"Uncle is waiting for us," says Fíli.

"He is?" Kíli gasps, before turning to clamber up the tree again. "I should get him an apple!"

"Just come down Kíli," Fíli sighs, knowing the longer Kíli stays in the tree the less likely they'll be able to get him out.

"But apples!" Kíli's disembodied voice cries. "Everyone loves apples!"

"Not as much as you," Fíli mutters dryly, earning a chuckle from Thorin behind him.

Eventually, Kíli returns to solid, grassy ground, pockets bulging with apples. Some might call it stealing, but the Men who work it are easily charmed by Kíli's exuberance and Fíli's eloquence. The first time they'd been caught in the orchard however, had Dís dragging them both back to the mountain by their ears but the apples had been worth it in the end.

"Uncle!" Kíli cries, launching himself into Thorin's arms. "I got you an apple!" he adds, offering Thorin one of the apples from his pockets.

"Did you now?" Thorin asks, eyebrows raised as he takes the apple from Kíli's hand.

"Uh huh," Kíli nods, smiling brightly. "Right from the top!"

"Then I offer you my most humble thanks for this fine gift," Thorin says with a smile. "Now what should we go find your mother?"

"Okay," Kíli says sullenly and Fíli knows he must be thinking how upset Dís will be after finding out they were in the orchard again.

"I'm sure Ma won't be mad if you give her an apple, Kee," Fíli assures him and he is right, for Dís softens the second Kíli presents her with his hard earned prize.

"Do you want another apple?" Kíli asks later, softly whispered, so that Dís does not overhear. Kíli has already eaten his own and the one intended for Jóli, whereas Fíli is only half-way through his first. Kíli loves apples and perhaps that is why Dís is so reluctant to allow them free reign in the orchard, knowing that, if given half the chance, Kíli would readily consume all the apples held within.

"You have it," Fíli smiles, taking Kíli's hand and hurrying them both along so that don't fall behind or get lost.

—

If Fíli thought he could not be made any more miserable, then he is sorely mistaken. They are not yet a week into their journey and already Fíli (and, he suspects, as is the majority of the Company) is fed up the quest. The rain had started early in the morning as only light, intermittent showers before gradually developing into a long and steady downpour which lasted from midday to dusk, eventually petering off into the annoying and constant drizzle that seems set to remain all night.

"Fíli," Thorin says as they begin to set up camp. "Take care of the ponies."

The spot they've chosen is hardly dry, all the wood so deeply soaked that it takes Glóin a good long while to start even a small fire. Fíli is thankful that at least his cloak managed to keep him from being completely soaked from head to toe, unlike Mister Baggins who is doing a remarkable impression of a miserably drowned cat as he tries to warm himself over the abysmally small fire.

Thunder rolls heavily in the distance, startling some of the more nervous ponies but Fíli is quick to calm them down. They cannot afford to lose any of the ponies so early in their journey, each one carrying their fair share of supplies and Fíli has yet to unburden all of them of their load. There is another clash of thunder, this time closer than before and again the ponies startle, Daisy getting her lead tangled with Minty's. Looking back, perhaps Fíli shouldn't have untied Daisy and instead waited for the thunderstorm to pass them over. Perhaps if he had thought, the pony might not have bolted at the third clash of thunder and perhaps if he had thought, he might have remembered the river nearby and not have been so eager to chase after her.

"Fíli!" Thorin shouts as he streaks past him, running after the panicked pony. He is lucky, Fíli thinks, that he is a Dwarf and not a Man or a Hobbit, for it is too dark, too dark for any race that has not spent their lives toiling the darkness of the mountain homes, for any but a Dwarf to see. There is no moon tonight, hidden behind roiling black clouds.

"Fíli!" Thorin shouts again, this time followed by the heavy pounding of boots against mud. Thorin is going to be furious at him, either for losing the pony in the first place or running off after her alone. But Fíli doesn't have time to think about that, hearing a loud and heavy splash up ahead as Daisy whinnies frantically at the edge of the river.

Fíli forgot about the river. It seems a foolish thing to forget, especially given the fact that they'd set up camp to avoid having to cross Last Bridge with the Hoarwell so swollen by the day's rain. It is even more foolish if one remembers what happened to Kíli, but Fíli isn't thinking of Kíli or the river, only the terrified pony ahead of him.

Daisy's lead is caught in the gnarled branches of a felled tree, trapping her at the river's edge. The bed is made of silt and smooth, pebbled stone making it near impossible for her to keep her footing as the swelling current threatens to drag her down river to the Greyflood. The rope is too wet for Fíli to get a decent hold in order to loosen it and Daisy's constant tugging only knotting the rope more tightly. Fíli is about to cut the rope free when Daisy rears sharply, throwing of his balance and sending him plunging into the Hoarwell's murky depths.

The water is freezing, water filling his lungs as Fíli instinctively tries to take a breath. It's impossible to tell which way is up, but eventually Fíli finds some footing on the river bed, kicking upwards until his head breaks the surface.

There are voices shouting his name, Thorin's loudest among them and Fíli wants to call out, but there is so much water. It is in his lungs and his mouth and his nose. _I'm drowning_, Fíli thinks, head falling below the surface once more. He kicks again, drawing in a strangled breath as he feels the cold air sting his face, but is not enough and Fíli cannot fight anymore.

The last thing he sees before he sinks below the surface is Kíli, small hand outstretched on the river bank, the Company desperately shouting behind him. He'd forgotten about Kíli, how could he have forgotten about Kíli?

His lungs burn, an aching coldness spreading outwards as the current pulls him away, from Thorin, from himself; _from everything_. He's almost gone when a hand grabs the hood of his cloak and pulls him free of the river and into the crisp, cold air. The hand pounds his back, each painful hit punctuated with a single word: _breathe_. _Air_, Fíli thinks. He needs _air_. And suddenly he's coughing, torrents of water spilling past his lips as he tries to suck in desperate gasps of air.

"_What were you thinking?_" shouts Thorin, breathless and heaving.

"I'm—" Fíli coughs, lungs still struggling to breathe too deeply.

"I could have—I could have," Thorin says, eyes wide. "I almost—" he starts, crushing Fíli against him in a bruising hug. _I almost lost you,_ hangs left unsaid between them. _I almost lost you, like we lost Kíli_.

"I'm so, so sorry," Fíli croaks, letting Thorin lead him back to camp on unsteady feet.

"Fíli," breathes Thorin, draping his warm, dry coat over Fíli shaking shoulders. "Don't ever do that to me again."

"I forgot—" Fíli starts. "I forgot about the river…" he whispers, quiet and desperate. _I forgot about Kíli_.

"You forgot," Thorin repeats flatly.

"About Kíli," Fíli confesses. "And what happened."

Thorin inhales sharply. "You were only young."

"I shouldn't have forgotten," Fíli says, shaking his head. "Not that."

"I miss him," Thorin says softly.

"I miss him too," Fíli says. "I don't always know why, but I miss him."

"Here you go lad," Dwalin says, intruding upon the silence that has settled between Fíli and Thorin. "This stew will warm you up."

"No," Fíli croaks, throat feeling thick with bile. "No thank you."

"You need to eat," Thorin insists.

"It smells like apples," Fíli says, pushing the bowl away from him.

It all smells like apples.

—

It is around midday when Kíli starts to get restless.

Dís is busy haggling with a particularly stubborn merchant, demanding too high a price for several pieces of jewellery, while Thorin and Dwalin disappeared into the village forge in order to discuss several new orders with the aging blacksmith and his apprentice. Fíli and Kíli are left to sit, _quietly and without mischief_, by the forge door.

"Can't we go to the river?" Kíli asks, roughly tugging at Fíli's arm.

"Ow! No!" Fíli snaps, pulling his arm from Kíli's insistent grip. "You know we can't go alone, so quit asking."

"We wouldn't be alone," Kíli states, matter-of-factly. "We'd be with each other."

"It's not the same, Kee," Fíli sighs. "We can't go without Ma or Uncle."

"What about Mister Dwalin?" Kíli asks.

"Or Mister Dwalin," Fíli adds with a smile.

"Can we go back to the orchard then?" Kíli asks after a moment.

"Not if you ever want to leave the mountain again," Fíli says, rolling his eyes.

"You're no fun," Kíli pouts.

"I don't make the rules," Fíli sighs, poking Kíli in the cheek.

"You're still no fun," Kíli says. "I'm bored!"

"Just be patient," Fíli says.

"Mister Dwalin says I haven't got a patient bone in my body," Kíli huffs, crossing his arms over his chest just like Dwalin does.

"I agree," Fíli laughs.

"So can we go to the river?" Kíli asks, smiling brightly.

"No!" Fíli states, trying to be firm like Dís or Thorin.

"No fun," Kíli mutters, frowning.

"Just eat your apple," Fíli smiles, throwing his arm over Kíli's shoulder and pulling him close.

It keeps Kíli quiet long enough for Dís to return, poking her head into the forge to tell Thorin that she is taking the boys to look at the toy stalls (specifically Bifur and Bofur's). That cheers Kíli up and Fíli has to admit that he has never seen anyone look so sullen while eating an apple before, except perhaps those who hate apples or have had too much apple wine (like Thorin once who wouldn't touch an apple for a month afterwards).

The toy stalls are wonderful, Bifur and Bofur's especially who greet them with wide smiles and new toys made just for them. Fíli really enjoys the new wooden Dwarf soldiers, setting them out on the counter in preparation for a mock battle. Bifur helps him, happily barking orders in harsh Khuzdul and clearing away the dead and wounded from the makeshift battlefield. It's the most fun Fíli has had all day and he wants to share it with Kíli, because he feels bad about Kíli not getting to the river or back to the orchard.

(And Kíli always lets Fíli play with him when Fíli is upset about something, not to mention Kíli always lets him play as Uncle when they go to retake Erebor from Smaug the Terrible.)

He turns to ask Kíli if he wants to play too, only Kíli isn't there. He's not with Dís or Bofur or Bifur, Kíli isn't anywhere.

Kíli is gone.

—

Grudgingly, Fíli is forced to admit that Rivendell is quite spectacular and the Elves themselves are unexpectedly hospitable. Their burglar seems especially enraptured and even Ori seemed in awe at the vast expanse of their library (even if Ori hasn't quite forgiven them for serving only _green_ food and, Fíli suspects, neither has Dwalin). Even Thorin seems surprised at how welcome they are at Lord Elrond's table, though the threat of the Elves attempting to stop them reaching Erebor hangs heavily over all their heads and sours the air with further distrust.

Fíli wishes he might have enjoyed the meal more, eighty years at Dís' table teaching him to eat without complaint of the meal put before him. Not that Fíli would ever consider himself to be a fussy eater, usually eating everything on his plate regardless of its status as either flora or fauna. The only exception being apples. Thorin tells him he used to love apples, before-Kíli and then after he refused to touch them. It was the same with the river, until Fíli eventually grew out of that fear—though his distaste for apples remains long past his majority.

It seems a cruel twist of fate that they should put apple in the salad, apple in the wine and apple in the bread (_but at least it's not Dwalin bread, _Fíli thinks with a snort). The whole spread is enough to set Fíli's stomach rolling with painful nausea that forces him to excuse himself from the table lest he throw up all over himself and Dwalin. He feels Thorin's eyes watching him from where he sits at Lord Elrond's side, but he hasn't the time to stop. He needs air—desperately.

Kíli is waiting for him in the garden. He never talks, something that has always irked Fíli, for he cannot remember the way Kíli had sounded when he laughed or cried or sung or spoke, and he would very much like to remember these things if only to ease the ever constant aching of his heart. Kíli only ever smiles or frowns or waves hello and goodbye, still the child he was on that disastrous day.

"Go away," Fíli snaps, pressing his eyes shut and silently praying there is no one around to hear him speak. Kíli is gone when Fíli opens his eyes again, left alone with only the twittering of birdsong to keep him company. He sits on smooth stone bench, shutting his eyes again and not opening them again until dusk hangs heavily on the sky, like a painted shroud.

He lets the aches of the last few days, settle upon him as he observes the ever darkening sky. He has not truly had a moment to breathe or to ease the stinging sharpness in his lungs; nearly drowning, only to be nearly eaten by Trolls the following night and then set upon by Wargs that very afternoon with barely a few hours of sleep between has not been entirely conducive to his health. But it's not like Fíli has really slept, the incident with Daisy and the Hoarwell awakening old nightmares thought long since gone. It does him no good to dwell on it, but he can't help but think Kíli must have felt the same way and that frightens Fíli more than he cares to say.

"Your brother would have liked it here," Dwalin says, joining Fíli on the bench.

"It's no mountain," Fíli states, turning his eyes from the sky back to the smooth arches and gilded posts. It is sorely different from the sleek, straight lines of Dwarven architecture and design.

"Aye," Dwalin nods. "But Kíli was always a strange lad."

"How so?" Fíli asks, perhaps a tad too eager.

"He was made for a life outside rock and stone," Dwalin explains, eyes turning to the stars above. "Always up the first tree he could find." he laughs. "Especially if it had apples."

"Kíli loved apples," Fíli states, though it feels as if the words are not his own, simply repeated time and time again by all those who remember Kíli.

"More than most," Dwalin affirms and he smiles, easily at the warm and happy memory while Fíli is left with only a coldness in his heart. And that makes him angry.

"Why are we talking about Kíli?" he snaps, the anger quick to rise and quick to leave. "Sorry." he says with a sigh, pressing his fingers tightly to his eyes.

"We're all tired," Dwalin says. "And you've not been sleeping."

"I'm fine," Fíli says.

"If I had a coin for every time I heard that lie," Dwalin sighs. "I'd have a hoard big enough to rival Smaug."

"I am fine," Fíli repeats, though slightly more forceful that the first.

"You're not," Dwalin says with a disbelieving snort. "Not since the river at least."

_Which river?_ Fíli thinks bitterly. "I'm _fine_." he says again, standing as his patience wears thin.

"You can't ignore it," Dwalin says, grabbing Fíli's arm in order to stop him from storming off.

"Watch me!" Fíli snarls, wrenching his arm away because how dare he when he was the one to take him away.

"Fíli," Dwalin says, words softly spoken. "If you need to talk—"

"No," Fíli says, words harsh against his tightening throat. "Not about this." he croaks, because Dwalin took him away and Fíli doesn't understand why that hurts him quite so much or where he was taken from. "Not with you."

"I was going to suggest Thorin," Dwalin shrugs. "Or even Balin." he adds with a grin. "He likes to talk about things."

Fíli visibly deflates. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Come on," Dwalin stands, clapping Fíli on the back. "Let's get you some real food."

The Company greets him with raucous cheers, piling food in his direction and cursing the Elves for giving so poor a meal. Personally, Fíli does not blame them; for how could they have known? But he laughs all the same, relishing the feel of the first true happiness he has felt on this thrice-damned quest.

And for a few short hours, Fíli can finally breathe.

—

Fíli doesn't know if he can stand with such pain his chest, his heart clenching painfully as it beats achingly fast.

Kíli is gone.

Fíli frantically searches the crowd, hoping beyond hope that Kíli has only wandered off down to another toy stall, but it is too thick with Men and Dwarves to make out one as small as Kíli among them. He needs Dís and Thorin and Dwalin and even Bifur and Bofur, because Kíli is _gone_ and he's never been _gone_ before.

(Never without Fíli there to take him by the hand, to soothe away the aches and pains of all his misadventures.)

"Fíli?" Dís asks when Fíli forcefully (and tearfully) tugs on her skirts. "What's wrong Fíli?"

"'Amad," Fíli cries. "I can't find Kíli!"

"Where did you last see him?" Dís asks gently, kneeling before him.

"I don't—" Fíli gasps, sobbing harder as he tries to think. "I thought—"

"I need you to calm down, ghivashel," Dís soothes. "I need you to think for me." she implores. "Where did you last see your brother?"

"Here with me," Fíli says, drawing in a shuddering breath. "But I was playing with Bifur and I wasn't keeping an eye on him and he must have snuck off."

"Hush, we'll find him," Dís says, rising. "This is not your fault."

They find Thorin first, after scouring every toy stall from one end of the market to the other for Kíli in the hope that some pretty new toy had caught his eye. They are not so fortunate and with each passing minute the sun sinks lower in the sky as late afternoon comes steadily upon them.

"Where does Kíli like to play?" Thorin asks him and Fíli tells that Kíli wanted to go back to the orchard, sobbing harshly into Dís shoulder. There is something terribly wrong, he can feel it down to his bones and in his very soul.

"The orchard," he sobs. It doesn't feel right, it feels as if they are going the wrong way but Fíli can't think of where else Kíli might be.

They make quick work of the orchard, every available Dwarf searching every tree for a hidden dwarfling, but they do not find him. Evening is rapidly descending, the sun beginning to set over the horizon, and they have yet to find Kíli.

"Where else would he have gone?" Thorin shouts. Fíli flinches, but does not let Thorin frighten him instead searching through his panic-hazed memories for some snippet, some tiny fragment of conversation that might lead them to Kíli.

Fíli feels as if he has been dipped in an icy lake when the memory comes to him, softly drifting across his mind like the apple-scented breeze that surrounds them and he desperately prays to Mahal that he is wrong, that Kíli would not be so foolish or so reckless.

"The river," he whispers, horrified as his heart stops beating for half a moment. "He wanted to go to the river."

Fíli has never seen such fear in Thorin's eyes before now.

—

Their respite at Beorn's is shorter than Fíli would like, but their host is kind enough if not a tad frightening. Too much has happened and none of it good, the worst of which being Thorin's very near death at the hands of the long though dead Azog the Defiler and Fíli had been helpless to prevent it, the deed falling to their steadfast burglar; a debt that Fíli can never hope to repay.

There is much Fíli wants to say to Thorin and the times where Thorin is free to be his uncle grow ever shorter, as the mantle of King grows ever heavier atop his shoulders. So it is rare sight to find Thorin so relaxed, pipe in hand as he watches the sunrise over the far-off Mirkwood.

(They are getting so close.)

"You say I'm reckless," Fíli says, joining Thorin on the seat outside.

"If you wish to lecture me," Thorin states dryly, exhaling a cloud of smoke as he does. "I'm afraid both Balin, Dwalin and Master Baggins have beaten you to it."

"I thought you had died," Fíli says after a moment's silence. "You spoke of what my loss would do to you, but did you ever think of how I would feel if I lost you?"

"Fíli—" Thorin starts, choking slightly on his next inhale.

"You and Ma are all I have," Fíli says, keeping his eyes trained on the trees ahead lest he face Thorin and lose his nerve. "After Kíli, after Da—I can't lose you too."

"You won't," Thorin says.

"You can't promise that," Fíli sighs. "We go to face a dragon, a mere fourteen if we are to count Gandalf."

"We will succeed," Thorin says softly. "We have made it this far and the distance between us and Erebor grows ever shorter."

"Do you feel it?" Fíli asks. "The mountain, calling you home?"

"All the time," Thorin replies.

"I feel it too," Fíli says. "Ever since Kíli…"

They both sit in silence, Fíli lighting his own pipe as they continue to watch the sun slowly rise. It reminds Fíli of the mornings in Ered Luin (it feels wrong to call it home, with Erebor so close), when he and Thorin would sit like this as Thorin wove tales of Erebor with stories of gold and precious gems—the stories changing as they Fíli grew older.

Eventually, the siren call of breakfast lures them both inside, Uncle Thorin slipping away to make room for Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thrór: exiled King Under The Mountain and Fíli must give way to his roll has prince and heir.

"Oh, Fíli!" Bilbo says, ushering him aside with an exaggerated flap of the hand. "I asked Beorn not to give you any apples."

"I—" Fíli blinks. "Thank you, Bilbo."

"Well, I noticed they tend to make you rather ill," Bilbo says, somewhat sheepish.

"That is understatement," Fíli laughs, clapping Bilbo tightly on the shoulder and leading them both to the behemoth dining table. It is a fine breakfast, with bread and honey and milk (though Fíli wishes it were ale), bellied by talk of the cruelty of Orcs and the stifling gloom of the Mirkwood that awaits them. It lightens his heart, to hear that Beorn will aid them on their quest as willing allies have been few and far between since they set off on this journey. Not even their own kin, save the ten that sit before him, were willing offer them aid (not without the Arkenstone, a flimsy promise sworn on a glittering jewel when they should have readily offered themselves had they so intended to ever help in the first place).

Afterwards, Beorn sends them on their way, packs full of fresh supplies. Fíli spends the journey from Beorn's to the Great Elven Road riding alongside Bilbo, once again offering his thanks for the unexpected consideration.

"If you don't mind me asking," Bilbo says. "What is it about apples that you make so ill?"

"They remind me of my brother," Fíli says, he does not mind sharing this with Bilbo.

"Your brother?" Bilbo asks, surprised. "I wasn't aware you had a brother."

"I did once," Fíli replies, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "But not anymore."

"May I ask what happened?" Bilbo says. "I don't mean to pry and you certainly don't have to tell me—"

"It is no great secret what happened to Kíli," Fíli says. "He drowned, in the Little Lhûn."

"I'm sorry," Bilbo says, not with pity but such genuine care that it catches Fíli momentarily off-guard.

"Thank you," he says.

"Would you tell me about him?" Bilbo asks.

Fíli isn't sure how to begin, so used to others telling stories of Kíli that he feels as if he has none of his own; at least none that adequately compare. Yet it is oddly freeing, Fíli finds. To talk so openly about Kíli with one who has never known him. It makes it easier to share what little memories he has, without fear of being told such moments never occurred and that they were simply a dream, as tangible as a puff of smoke dissipating in the breeze.

Bilbo is an excellent listener, interrupting only to ask questions that might provide better context to the tale and he does not patronise or deny some of Fíli's more fanciful ideas. It is the first time Fíli has spoken of Kíli with such an unburdened heart.

He spies Kíli sitting on the path, a bright smile gracing his features as Fíli smiles back. He does not tell Bilbo of what he sees or how later in the oppressive dark of Mirkwood, that feeling of happiness and contentment slowly turns in on itself until it feels as if there is a poison in his veins.

He sees Kíli more and more, certain that he is surely going mad as the path, the forest goes endlessly on.

Kíli doesn't smile and neither does Fíli.

—

The sky is painted blue and orange by the time they reach the river, desperately calling out Kíli's name. No reply comes, save the soft gurgling of the river as the water glides gently over the pebbled bank. They search long and hard, bright and burning torches lighting their way as they pick apart every stone and every log.

Many are on the verge of giving up when Fíli spies Kíli, standing idly at the river's edge. "Kíli!" he cries, smiling too wide and too bright for the devastation that is about to be found.

In the days, months and years that follow Fíli will wonder why he did not keep a closer eye on Kíli. It was if he had assumed they would both be safe, that strife and calamity would not find them so far from Erebor. A foolish notion, but one that he forgets along with most other things that came before-Kíli. And he will forget Kíli, but _this_ will never fully leave him.

"Kíli!" Fíli calls again and suddenly Thorin is pushing him back, because Kíli isn't standing at the river's edge, rather he is lying on it; so very still and quiet—two things Kíli is never meant to be and it is wrong, so very wrong. Suddenly he is screaming Kíli's name.

"Dwalin!" Thorin orders. "Get him away from here _now_!"

Fíli is caught by Dwalin with relative ease and though he kicks and bites and screams, it is not enough to make him let go. He watches Thorin try to catch Dís as she collapses to her knees beside Kíli and she too is screaming Kíli's name with such bone-deep sobs that it tears Fíli apart to hear her so broken.

(He'll not remember sixty years from now, how Dís had looked silhouetted against the fading light, Kíli's body held in her arms as she wept for the loss of her youngest son.)

"Please, Dwalin," Fíli begs, screaming the words in a desperate litany. "He needs me."

It is so loud and the air is too warm, the night too still. Why hadn't he remembered sooner, about the river or the stones he liked to collect? Why had he said the orchard when he knew it was wrong?

Dwalin carries him further and further away, until even the sound of his own screaming fades from ears. He cannot do this, he cannot live without his little brother, not without Kíli who is supposed to live and breathe and laugh and smile. He is not meant to be still and cold, lungs full of water and so very alone.

Dwalin takes him towards the orchard, the breeze carrying the scent of apples with it as the Fíli's heart irrevocably breaks. It is not fair, it is not right that this should happen to Kíli. The night should not be so peaceful or inviting, the day should not get to end as it began—bright and smelling so sweetly of apples.

Kíli is dead and the whole world smells of apples.

It is not fair.

—

It is a cruel twist of fate that their escape from Thranduil's dungeon should rely so heavily on the Forest River. It is even crueller that his barrel, sealed tightly shut with barely the space to breathe let alone move should smell so strongly of apples. He fears it might drive him mad, as the world tilts and rocks and spins. It feels as if an eternity has passed before the barrel slows and someone guides it gently to shore.

It is Thorin who releases hi from his barrel, helping Fíli to escape it with uncoordinated haste. He stumbles back towards the river, falling to his hands and knees as he retches the final paltry meal he had eaten during the last day of their incarceration. He feels cold hands pull his hair back as he continues to vomit until there is nothing left but bile and aching cramps.

"Are you well?" Thorin asks, signalling Óin to check over Fíli first.

"It smelled of apples," Fíli croaks, turning to dry heave into the river once more. He catches sight of Kíli standing by the barrel, frowning at Fíli's distress. He wants to scream at him to go away, to tell Kíli that he is sick of being haunted but he hasn't the words or the heart to truly let him go.

"Oh, Fíli," Thorin soothes, rubbing circles on his back.

"I never wish to see another apple so long as I live," Fíli cries, finally managing to sit up without the dizzying nausea sweeping over him once more.

When he is finally able to stand, Fíli finds that Kíli remains still standing idly by the accursed barrel. Kíli remains with them all the way to Lake-town and stays with them when the Master invites them all to dine with him. Fíli finds he hasn't the appetite for food or conversation, excusing himself from the feast with an exhausted excuse.

The beds provided are large enough to fit three Dwarves comfortably and it will have to, given there are not enough beds for them to have one all to themselves. It is not so bad, they have spent the entire journey in each other's company—each members sleeping habits as familiar as one's own family. Besides, Fíli never did like sleeping alone.

The feast extends long into the night, sleep eluding Fíli despite his best efforts. Kíli sits by the fire staring at Fíli as Fíli stares at him, telling him about all the things he missed in Ered Luin, of weapons trainings and Thorin making a decided fool of himself on more than one occasion. He tells Kíli how greatly Dís misses him and the pain of losing Jóli. They buried him next to Kíli, their tombs lying side by side deep beneath the mountain. Fíli tells Kíli how he wishes he could remember more of him, not just this faded shadow of how he believes Kíli ought to be.

"Why'd you have to die?" Fíli asks. Kíli just shrugs, dragging his eyes from Fíli's to the door where Thorin stands. "Thorin!" Fíli startles. "I was just—I was—"

"Talking to Kíli?" Thorin supplies, arms crossed over his chest. "You seem him sometimes, don't you?

"I—" Fíli starts, quailing under Thorin's gaze. "Yes."

"I used to see Frerin," Thorin says, moving to sit next to Fíli. "I do not know if it is madness Fíli, but I do know it is not a terrible thing."

"I wish he would go away," Fíli says, eyes moving to where Kíli still sits and fixing him with a glare.

"If that were true," Thorin says. "He would have left you a long time ago."

"Then tell me about him," Fíli says.

"He loved apples," Thorin offers, looking suddenly very lost.

"I know that already," Fíli states, furiously wiping at the tears that are forming in his eyes. "Tell me that I loved him, that I cared for him and that it wasn't my fault he died."

"That I can do," Thorin says with a smile. "Do you remember that day?" he asks.

"A bit," Fíli says, shaking his head as he tries to think past the ever-present stench of apples. "Mostly just apples."

"It was not your fault that Kíli went down to the river," Thorin states firmly. "It was never your fault and you loved Kíli just as he loved you."

"Tell me about Fíli-and-Kíli," Fíli says. "Tell me about them."

"Did I ever tell you about the time Kíli practiced his runes on Dwalin's head?" Thorin chuckles. "Then you went and corrected all his mistakes." Thorin adds. "What about when you and Kíli started robbing Dwalin of biscuits or when you both stole all my socks and hid them about the mountain?"

"Everything," Fíli breathes. "I want to hear everything.

Kíli sits by the fireplace, seemingly more tangible than he ever was before and he smiles bright and wide the way he used to. That is how Kíli is meant to be, how he was in the days he lived and breathed and smiled.

In the morning they make for Erebor and nothing works out the way Fíli thought it would. He is free from Kíli and his soul feels lighter, but as one burden lifts another falls as Thorin descends into to sickness and ruin. Fíli spends his days trying to coax Thorin from the treasury, begging him to tell him stories of Kíli if only to remove his heart and soul from the gold that clings to Thorin so tightly.

Bilbo asks him for more stories about Kíli, perhaps in attempt to stir something in Thorin also, always being sure to ask when Thorin is searching nearby. They have not yet found the Arkenstone and with each passing day Thorin grows more desperate in his searching.

"Tell me about Kíli," Bilbo asks, almost as if he is searching for some divine answer. "What did he treasure most of all?"

"That's easy," Fíli smiles, wide and bright like Kíli once would, and tells him.

Kíli loved apples.

—

**Khuzdul:**

**âkminrûk zu **/ thank you

'**amad **/ mother

**ânur **/ with the river

**ghivashel **/ treasure of all treasures


End file.
